


the anatomy of flight

by beans



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, Kisses, M/M, yay boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:28:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beans/pseuds/beans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis likes birds and harry sings a lot</p><p> </p><p>  <strong>Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone.</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	the anatomy of flight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snsk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/gifts).



> for my lovely nadia

There is madness in December. It has white knuckles and hears pin drops, it howls and breaks windows. And it uses the birds to sing its sad, sad songs; forcing them to a place of warmth that others long for.

That’s why Louis hates winter. He keeps his heat on high and his curtains closed. Zayn comes over every once in a while, only to check if Louis’ fridge has enough necessities to keep him living until his next visit. Louis likes Zayn; enjoys his company to the brim of exhaustion. Louis gets tired of loving, so he tries his hardest to not love at all.

Zayn’s worried, along with the others who’ve wasted days and nights hoping the best for him when he so clearly deserves the worst.

“I think I’ve found my muse.” Zayn explained earlier that week.

“Who’s the victim this time?” Louis jokes. He hates jokes.

“Liam. He spilled my coffee on me, and then bought me a new one. He kissed me goodbye, too.”

“What a fairytale romance. You should write a sonnet.”

Zayn sighs.

“You know, Lou, I think I know how to solve this phase of bitterness you’re trudging trough.”

“Only bitterness I’ve portrayed recently is the scowl I delivered when you walked into my home with those awfully muddy boots, you pretentious hipster.”

Zayn scoffs and says, “I will never understand why you’ve let such little heartbreak damage your thoughts on the world. We’re not all out to get you, Louis.”

Louis looks up at Zayn and says, “And I will never understand why an artist as talented as you wasted your time trying to sew up my life with your strings of useless hope. You could be famous by now.”

“You know what you need?”

“A Xanax?”

“Let me speak, Louis.” Zayn snaps. Louis rolls his eyes.

Zayn continues, “I miss you. Not who you are now, though. I miss the old Louis who would go crazy watching a Man U game and not give a single fuck about who was watching. But then _Eleanor_  came along, and she ripped you from us. She isolated you, Louis, and she brainwashed you. You didn’t have a fucking clue because how in love you thought you were.”

Louis stands up and says through gritted teeth, “Get the fuck out.”

“No, Louis. You need to listen. You’re not Louis anymore; you’re some kind of animal who attacks those who want to help.”

“I don’t want your fucking help, Zayn!”

Zayn grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him a bit. “Tell me what you want; what can I do that’ll make you happy? I hate seeing you like this. She’s ruined you, Louis.”

Louis shoves Zayn back and seethes, “Do you have any fucking idea what you’re saying? Get out, Zayn!”

Zayn brushes past Louis, breathing harshly. He pulls on his coat and gloves and opens the door.

“I think I’ve lost you, Louis.” He says before he exits.

“I don’t want to be found.”

***

He doesn’t really know how to explain his love for flight. Sometimes he parks his car outside the fences of the airport and lies on the hood of his 1966 Chevrolet Caprice; watching the planes full of strangers fly ahead of him.

When he was little he used to go to the park with his Nan and feed the pigeons little pieces of bread that’s gone stale. She’d tell him stories about when she was younger and her youth was as golden as the sun. She’d draw little birds on his hands in black ink and kiss his temple if he was having a bad day.

She bought him a pair of plain white shoes for his 13thbirthday and a pack of black Sharpie markers. That night when he was supposed to be asleep, he sat cross legged on his bed and drew black birds onto the contrasting white shoes.

His Nan grew sick as he grew older, taller and leaner. His voice deepened as fast as she began to lose herself. She got put into a home, one that would take better care of her than Louis could.

Days went by slow and the black marker began to fade from his shoes. He went to visit her last week. He picked up a slice of bread before he left his house and ripped it to shreds on his walk to the nursing home. He threw the bits onto the ground, left them for a hungry bird to come by.

He walked down the hallways to her new room and knocked on the door. He heard her voice call from the other side of the door, “Come in!”

He opened the door and smiled at his Nan. She was sitting in the old, ratty rocking chair with her pink slippers on her small feet.

“Hi, Nan,” He said smiling. “I’ve missed you.”

She looked up at him and frowned. Louis’ smile dropped in confusion.

“Who are you?” She asked with a scowl on her face. His stomach dropped and his eyes began to well up with tears.

“I’m- I’m your grandson. Louis. You remember me, right?”

She throws her head back and laughs, “My grandson Louis is thirteen, thank you. I got him a pair of shoes for his birthday, did you know? He loved them. He loves birds. I miss him.”

Louis shakes his head frantically, “No, I’m Louis. I’m your grandson. I’m not thirteen anymore, I’m twenty. You remember me.”

“You aren’t my grandson! Get out!” She shouts. Her nurse comes from the hallway and smiles sadly at the scene.

“What’s wrong with her?  Why doesn’t she remember me?”

The nurse sighs and looks between the two, “Follow me.” She whispers to Louis.

 

Louis left the nursing home without his shoes that day. He tiptoed into her room after the nurse informed him of his Nan’s condition. The nurse informed him she’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He places the shoes beside her bedside table and kissed her forehead as she slept. They didn’t fit that well, anyways.

He runs home barefoot because he’s always hated socks. He used to press his cold toes to Eleanor’s warm calves as they lay under the cotton sheets of their once shared bed, only to result in an argument about Louis’ laziness and lack of stability.

He shakes the memory from his head and comes back to reality. He’s sitting on his couch that has a coffee stain on one of the cushions. He spilled Eleanor’s coffee on the couch on his way to kiss her cheek. The cup tipped over in his hand and washed over the fabric.

He remembers her slapping him upside the head and asking him how one could be so foolish. He didn’t know then and he still doesn’t know now. He kind of doesn’t want to.

***

Louis continues to visit his Nan and he’s a tad bit jealous that she doesn’t know, nor remember, the person he’s become. She tells him stories about himself that he’s grown to forget.

Some days, she’ll give him a look that ignites a spark of hope that maybe she remembers. The spark dulls instantly when she greets him with a false name, one he told her when he visited a week after he discovered her condition.

She calls him William and it reminds him of his youth; the days she scolded him by his middle name when he ran too fast down her small flat’s hallway.

He enjoys his time with his Nan, even though she has no clue who he is. And that should hurt, but all he feels is relief.

On his walk home from his visit to Nan he decides to stop by the park and rest upon one of the cold cement benches. There’s a group of children to his left, bundled up in scarves and thick coats to keep them warm in this dreadful December weather.

To his right, there’s a man strumming softly on a guitar and singing. Once he’s finished with his song, Louis pipes up, “Isn’t it a little too cold to be street performing?”

The boy looks up and Louis’ eyes are met with the brightest pair of green he’s seen in a while. He smiles at Louis and says “It’s never too cold for music.”

Louis nods and leaves it at that. He’s shivering a little, the cold slipping through his thin jacket. A few minutes later, a body of warmth sits beside him on the cold bench.

“ _Your shaking shoulders prove that it’s colder inside your head in the winter of dead_.” The boy sings.

“Poetic.” Louis responds, not looking at the boy. He continues strumming on his guitar but doesn’t sing a word. He stops abruptly and says, “I’m Harry.”

Louis looks over at him and frowns. “Okay.” He says.

Harry nods and lets out a breath. Louis gets up and leaves.

***

Louis gets a call from his Mum a few days later while he’s reading a book about Cardinals. It’s December 12thand the moon and stars have made home in the sky. He hasn’t spoken to her much since Eleanor left. He hasn’t spoken much to anyone, really.

“Louis.” She says softly.

“Hi, Mum.”

“Have you heard?”

He’s confused, she can tell by his lack of response.

“Your Nan passed away today. I’m sorry, baby.”

He breathes out, “Okay.” before he hangs up and puts on his coat and shoes.

He walks to the park in the cold and sits down on a bench lightly covered in a thin layer of snow. He brushes off the snow with his gloved hand and takes a seat. He’s sitting silently for about ten minutes until someone sits down beside him.

“Hello.” Harry says softly.

Louis stares straight ahead of himself and doesn’t respond. His eyes well up with tears and his hands begin to shake uncontrollably. He lets a few tears slip before he stands up. He turns to walk away before Harry grabs his hand and spins him around.

They stare at each other for a bit before Louis removes Harry’s grip from his hand.

“I’m Louis.” He says shakily, after he’s realized why Harry’s stopped him.

“I’m sorry.” Harry says quietly.

“For what?”

“Not knowing what’s wrong. I want to help you, but-”

Louis interrupts, “I don’t need help. Especially yours, considering I don’t know you.”

Harry smiles softly before watching Louis walk down the road back to his flat.

***

Louis wastes his days by getting high or taking walks. Sometimes both. He puts on his winter coat and makes his way towards the park. He sees the same familiar boy sitting on his bench, strumming a guitar with his eyes closed.

He sits down beside Harry and smiles. He has a rolled joint in the pocket of his jacket and bumps his elbow against Harry’s.

He looks up from his guitar and his eyes widen. “Louis!” He says surprised.

“Hey, mate,” Louis says. The weed is wearing off and he’s ready for another go. “Say, Harry. Have you ever, uh, smoked?”

Harry gets a glint in his eyes and smiles widely.

“I was wondering why your pupils were the size of your head.”

Louis giggles and nods. “Let’s just say I have a joint in my pocket, crying to get lit and there’s enough for two.”

Harry is still smiling, so he stands up and holds out his hand to Louis.

“Show me the way!” He says excitedly.

Twenty minutes later, Louis and Harry are lying on Louis’ living room floor, passing the joint back and forth to one another. Once its gone, they begin having random conversations, accompanied by Harry’s random singing.

“Can we be bestfriends?” Harry asks seriously.

Louis looks over at him. “We hardly know each other.”

“I’m Harry, you’re Louis. That’s good enough, right?”

Louis thinks about it for a few seconds and nods. “Okay. We can be bestfriends.”

Harry lets out a soft little, “Yayyyy” before lifting his hands in the air and clapping loudly. He continues clapping for about two minutes before Louis sits up and grasps Harry’s hands between his.

“Have you quite finished?”

Harry nods sadly and sings softly, “ _Look in the mirror and ask your soul if you're alright.”_

Louis smiles and says, “Why do you always sing?”

“It shuts up the voices in my head.”

Louis stares at Harry before releasing his hands and dropping back down onto the floor and beginning to giggle. Harry joins in and soon enough, the two boys are clutching their stomachs and tearing up from laughter.

“What do they tell you?” He chuckles out.

Harry stops laughing and looks at Louis with wide eyes. “Do you want to know?”

Louis nods and turns on his side to look at Harry. “May I?”

Harry thinks for a few seconds and shakes his head no. “I don’t want you to know.” He says quietly.

Louis hums. “Bestfriends tell each other everything, Harold.”

“But-but I don’t wanna tell you, Louis.” He says, a bit panicky. Louis is about to respond before Harry sings out _, “He pretends that he's okay. But you should see him in bed late at night, he's petrified.”_

Louis knows these lyrics. It’s from a song by an alternative band that sings about depression and things he shouldn’t relate to but does.

He sings softly, “ _Take me out, and finish this waste of a life.”_

Harry smiles widely at Louis and looks around the room. He stares at the drawings and sketches of different birds that are scattered along Louis’ wall and sighs.

“I take it you like birds?”

Louis nods. “Quite a lot.”

“Why?”

“What’s not to like? They can take off into flight and leave whenever they want. I’m jealous of them. I want to fly away.”

“Can I go with you?” Harry asks.

“Would you?”

“Gladly.” Harry says happily.

***

Zayn comes over December 16thwith a bag of McDonalds, a bottle of whisky and an apology. They eat and drink away their sorrows as best as they can.

“It seems as if everyone’s broken these days, Zayn.” He says drunkenly.

“Whys that?”

He licks his lips and says sadly, “I met a boy at the park. His names Harry and he sings sad songs about darkness and being scared of his own head. He’s too pretty to be broken.”

Zayn’s quiet for a bit before saying, “Do you think it’s your job to fix him?”

Louis shrugs and asks, “How could I help him?”

Before Zayn can answer, Louis’ cell phone vibrates against the glass table in his dining room. He doesn’t look at the caller ID before answering.

“Helloooo?” He slurs.

Ironically, a smooth deep voice speaks down the line, “Please think about why you can't sleep in the evening and please don't be afraid of what your soul is really thinking. Your soul knows good and evil, your soul knows both sides. And it's time you pick your battle, and I promise you this is mine.”

It’s Harry. He can tell by the roughness of his voice, and who the hell else would call him randomly to speak lyrics?

“How’d you get my number?” He asks.

“Nothing kills a man faster than his own head.” Harry speaks.

Louis stays quiet and listens to Harry’s rough breathing for a few seconds before rambling off his address and saying, _‘Come over.’_ before hanging up the phone. 

Harry’s knocking on his door five minutes later. Louis opens it and says, “That was quick.”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Hmm, I bet.” Louis says teasingly.

Harry follows Louis into his living room and stops walking when he sees Zayn.

“Hello,” Harry says politely. “I’m Harry. Louis’ bestfriend.”

Zayn’s eyes widen with recognition and he looks between the two boys. “I’m Zayn. Louis’… boyfriend.”

Louis watches Harry’s face drop and the disappointment bloom onto his face. Zayn looks at Harry’s face and begins biting his lip to stop him from laughing.

“Oh.” Harry says, looking at Louis sadly.

“Zayn, stop.” Louis says sharply.

“I’m- I’m not really his, uh, boyfriend. But you should’ve seen your face, mate.” Zayn says before laughing. Harry feels a weight lift off his shoulders and looks at Louis. Louis smiles softly at him and shrugs his shoulders.

Zayn leaves ten minutes after Harry arrives. Before he goes, he pulls Louis into the kitchen and holds him by his shoulders.

He speaks softly. “I know we haven’t spoken in a few weeks, but I saw you smile tonight for the first time in months at that boy.”

Louis shrugs and says, “We’re practically strangers.”

“Well don’t be. He’s good for you. Keep him around.” Zayn says before hugging Louis and exiting the flat.

And Louis does.

Harry comes over nearly every day for the next few months and Louis feels himself falling. They go bird watching as it gets warmer outside and Louis has the amazing memory of laughing so hard he cried when Harry had mistaken a pigeon for a chicken.

Louis teaches Harry a few things about birds that live in their area. Harry listens intently and sometimes rents books about birds from the local library and gives them to Louis on days where he’s more dark than usual. He makes bird noises into the phone on late nights as they speak and Louis hasn’t laughed this much in a while.

Harry stays over sometimes, cuddling up to Louis in the bed he once shared with someone else. Someone else he had the drunken courage to tell Harry about a few nights before. He felt relieved afterwards; as if he no longer had the weight of heartbreak in his chest.

Harry held him while he cried and told him he’s not alone anymore and Louis surprisingly found himself believing it. Harry started singing to himself less and less and Louis began to worry.

“Are they too loud?” He asks quietly one night as they lay in bed, legs intertwined.

Harry turns his head towards him and asks, “Who?”

“The voices.”

“Oh. Actually, no. ‘S kind of quiet up there these days.” He says, smiling softly. Harry kissed Louis on the temple and told him not to worry.

 

When Louis wakes up the next morning, Harry’s head is on his chest and he draws patterns onto Louis’ bare skin with his fingers. Louis runs his fingers through Harry’s hair and says groggily, “Good morning, curly.”

Harry looks up at him and smiles. He scoots up a bit so they’re eye level and he glances quickly at Louis’ lips. They stay like that for a minute or so; Harry momentarily looking at Louis lips and bringing his eyes up to meet a piercing blue.

Louis sighs and says, “Will you just kiss me already?”

Harry’s eyes widen and he looks surprisingly at Louis. “R-really?”

Louis nods and brings his hand up to cup Harry’s cheek. Harry perches himself up on his elbow and looks down at Louis. He leans down slowly and lets their lips brush softly for a few seconds. Louis surges up and kisses Harry softly.

Harry doesn’t know what to feel. Actually, he feels everything. He feels Louis’ soft hand against his chest, keeping him held up. He feels the flannel sheets pressing against his skin. He feels his heart rabbiting in his chest and he feels his love for this small, broken boy run through his veins.

He breaks the kiss and looks down at Louis. He’s licking over his lips and reaching his head up to connect their lips once again.

They kiss softly for a bit before Louis lifts his head and speaks softly, lips brushing against Harry’s.

“I promised myself I’d never fall in love with someone as broken as me.”

Harry shakes his head in disagreement. “I’m better, Louis. You made me better. I’m not broken.” He says desperately.

Louis closes his eyes and sighs. “You know what _sucks_ , Harry? I want you. I’ve wanted you for weeks and months but-”

“Take me. I’m yours, Louis. Only if you’ll have me.”

***

Months full of kisses and laughter pass by quickly and Louis learns to love again. Harry only sings when he’s in the shower or baking. Louis tells Harry he loves him and Harry cries. He goes out and gets two swallows tattooed onto his chest, along with an L on the web of skin between his thumb and pointer finger.

Louis cries when he sees them, and then he makes an appointment to get a swallow tattooed onto his forearm, along with an H on the inside of his wrist.

The day after Louis gets his tattoos; Harry goes out and gets a ring.

“It’s not a proposal, it’s a promise. A promise that I will love you until I’ve turned to dust. I’ll love you every time you have a breakdown because we’ve run out of birdfeed. I’ll love you at your highs and lows. I’ll love you when you burn my toast or make my tea too sweet. I’ll love you when you don’t love yourself and you feel like you don’t deserve it.”

Louis has tears running down his cheeks and a hand clapped over his mouth to muffle his sobs.

“Most importantly, I’ll love you-” He doesn’t even get to finish his cheesy speech because Louis tackles him to the ground and plants kisses all over his face.

“I love you, you cliché curly-headed freak.” He says voice full of laughter.

“And I love you, you bird-obsessed prick.”

They’re quiet for a few seconds, staring at each other and smiling before Harry tips his head back against the hard wood floor and sings loudly and slow, pulling out each word like a novel.

“ _And I will always love you_.”

Louis slaps him on the chest and says, “Whitney Huston, huh?” Harry nods and smiles at his boy.

Louis puts his head on Harry’s chest and says, “I love you so much.”

Harry looks down at him and runs his fingers through the soft brown fringe.

“I love you too, baby.”


End file.
